oined a party entering, and was soon in the
presence of men with gowns on, and men with long staffs in their
hands--and on inquiry found that I was in the Palais de Justice;
beneath which is the Conciergerie, a noted prison. Louis XVI. and Marie
Antoinette were tried and condemned to death here.

A bas-relief, by Cortat, representing Louis in conference with his
Counsel, is here seen. But I had visited too many places of interest
during the day to remain long in a building surrounded by officers of
justice, and took a stroll upon the Boulevards.

The Boulevards may be termed the Regent Street of Paris, or a New Yorker
would call them Broadway. While passing a cafe, my German friend Faigo,
whose company I had enjoyed during the passage from America, recognised
me, and I sat down and took a cup of delicious coffee for the first time
on the side walk, in sight of hundreds who were passing up and down the
street every hour. From three till eleven o'clock, P.M., the Boulevards
are lined with men and women sitting before the doors of the saloons
drinking their coffee or wines, or both at the same time, as fancy may
dictate. All Paris appeared to be on the Boulevards, and looking as if
the great end of this life was enjoyment.

* * * * *

Anxious to see as much as possible of Paris in the limited time I had to
stay in it, I hired a cab yesterday morning and commenced with the Hotel
des Invalids, a magnificent building, within a few minutes' walk of the
National Assembly. On each side of the entrance gate are figures
representing nations conquered by Louis XIV., with colossal statues of
Mars and Minerva. The dome on the edifice is the loftiest in Paris--the
height from the ground being 323 feet.

Immediately below the dome is the tomb of the man at whose word the
world turned pale. A statue of the Emperor Napoleon stands in the second
piazza, and is of the finest bronze.

This building is the home of the pensioned soldiers of France. It was
enough to make one sick at the idea of war, to look upon the mangled
bodies of these old soldiers. Men with arms and no legs; others had legs
but no arms; some with canes and crutches, and some wheeling themselves
about in little hand carts. About three thousand of the decayed soldiers
were lodged in the Hotel des Invalids, at the time of my visit. Passing
the National Assembly on my return, I spent a moment or two in it. The
interior of this building res